The empty grocery cart is beginning to roll
across the empty parking lot. It’s beginning to act
like Marlon Brando might if no one were watching.
It’s a joyous sight, but it might not end all that
happily, the way someone light in the head
does something charming and winds up dead.
My thoughts are so heavy, you couldn’t lift
the bier. They are so light and stray so far
someone in a uniform wants to bring them in.
The world might be in agony, but I don’t think so.
Somewhere a woman is swathed in black veils
and smiling too. It might be the eve of her baptism,
the day after her son hit a pole.
How can she signal her acceptance of life?
What if a hummingbird enters her mouth? I hate
the thought, whizzing by in red clothes.
Yet I admire its gloves. Hands are unbelievably beautiful.
They hold on to things. They let things go.